Crystal Clear
by Pennan Inque
Summary: Bellamy won't let Clarke bathe alone. And for good reason.
1. Chapter 1

**Small break from my hiatus. Had to write this after watching "The 100".**

* * *

><p>"Where do you think you're going?"<p>

Clarke whirled around, almost spilling the towel and makeshift toiletries in her arms. She caught the little bottle of honey and sand scrub just before it clattered onto the rough floor of her tent, but Monty's aloe shampoo wasn't so lucky. Bending to pick it up, she raised her head and sent Bellamy a glare. She straightened and put a hand on her hip, balancing her stuff in her other palm. "Where does it look like I'm going?"

"Like you're going to finish your mud bath," he smirked, giving her a once-over. She was still covered in grime from when she had not-so-gracefully tripped over a root while trapping earlier this morning.

"You're half right," she said, making to move past him. "I'm going to the spring to clean up."

He caught her arm before she could get around him. "Alone?"

"Of course I'm going alone. I'm going to _bathe_."

"Not by yourself you're not. There are Grounders everywhere, Clarke. At least take Raven with you."

"She's busy working on the ship with Monty."

"Okay fine. What about Octavia?"

"No one's seen her since this morning." She didn't need to mention who she thought his sister was with. They both knew.

He sighed and his eyes clenched shut. "There has to be someone who can go with you. What about Jasper?"

Her jaw fell open. "You're kidding, right?" she gaped. "You want Jasper —innocent little Jasper who froze last week when he accidentally saw Monroe's bra and didn't move for fifteen minutes— to keep watch while I bathe _naked?_"

"So maybe it's not the best idea…"

"It's a horrible idea, Bellamy! Look, I'll just go by myself. Your list of candidates is dwindling; there's just no one available. So unless you want Finn to come with me—"

"No."

"What?"

"I said no. Spacewalker is no bodyguard. I'll go with you."

"_Excuse me_?"

"Did I stutter, Princess? I said I'm going with you."

"And _I_ said I can look after myself."

"Oh really? So if a Grounder comes out of nowhere and rushes at you, you're going to pull a gun out of the water and shoot him down? Be reasonable, Clarke! We need you around here. You can't protect yourself and shower at the same time, so either suck it up and stay dirty, or quit complaining and let me watch your back."

"Fine," she relented, a low grumble mixing with her stubborn exhale. "Just so long as it's not only me you're keeping an eye on."

* * *

><p>The spring was breathtaking. It chirped happily as the waters gathered from higher up the mountain and drained over the edges of the pool that gathered under the delicious shade of interwoven trees. A few leaves littered the surface here and there, but they followed the current and journeyed downstream.<p>

Clarke slipped into the water and let out a breathy sigh. The pool stopped at her hips so she slid further down, relishing the sensation of bubbles that tickled her skin. It had been so long since she allowed herself the luxury of a shower, let alone a bath. The feel of the fresh spring water around her immediately lulled her into a state of bliss and relaxation. She couldn't even fathom how amazing it would feel to be _clean_ again.

Looking back over her shoulder to ensure Bellamy was at the edge of the forest, back turned, where she'd left him, she rose to the bank and gingerly grabbed the body scrub from on top of her towel and clothes. She scooped some out with her fingers and rubbed it all over. The diluted honey was stickier than the pasty soap they had on the Ark, but worked in keeping the sand together, and effectively scrubbed the mud and filth from Clarke's pale skin.

Once she'd done her legs, she waded back into the water and washed the gunk and grime off them before resuming cleaning her torso and arms. As she bathed, she felt her spirits lift. She had forgotten how amazing it felt to be cleansed!

She worked at her face, gently massaging the sand across her cheeks. Rinsing the residue off her hands, she cupped them together and gathered water to splash across her face. It stilled enough in her hands that she was able to catch her reflection for the first time since the landing. She looked different, but that was to be expected. It was the tiredness she noticed the most, followed by the relief of the semblance of order she, Bellamy, and the others had created, the gratitude that she wasn't alone, the shred of peace she had found in this spring…

And the chaos that erupted when she saw someone else's face in the water.

* * *

><p>Bellamy picked at the grass as he sat cross-legged on the ground. He tried to focus on tearing the blades into confetti pieces rather than the splashing behind him. He'd caught the sound of what he could only describe as a contented moan from Clarke when she immersed, and was now trying everything he could to not think about her bathing. He and Clarke were the surrogate leaders of the rag-tag group of misfits at camp. It wouldn't be… proper for him to think of her in a way that was anything but professional.<p>

And so he ripped apart the earth. He did not think about how he'd briefly seen her clothes scattered hazardously on the bank and that they would look better on his tent floor. He did not imagine the shape of her hips or the way her nipples were probably hard from the chilly water of the spring. He wasn't picturing the way her hair slicked back and trailed down her back, following the dip of her curves or how her back would arch as he followed that path.

Nope. His mind was clear.

So clear that when Clarke's scream pierced the air, he was on his feet in a second, gun poised as he turned around, aimed, shot.

Missed.

Thank god he did. His target had Clarke in his arms, back pressed to his front as he held her to him like a shield. She was struggling and thrashing in his clutches, cursing and yelling at her captor with everything she had. Her arms were pinned at her sides and every bit of her was exposed, which doubled her fury.

Bellamy wasn't given the grace to take her in though. He had his gun trained at the man, feeling his own rage building to a crux as the bastard tightened his hold on Clarke.

"Murphy," he snarled. "Let her go."

"Nice to see you too, Bellamy," Murphy said, grunting as he tried to keep Clarke contained.

She squirmed and flailed harder. "Let go of me, you son of a—"

"Quite the mouth on her now," Murphy sneered, his eyes penetrating deep into Bellamy. "She get that from you?"

"Let her go, Murphy," Bellamy hissed again.

The traitor pulled out the knife that'd been given to him the day of his banishment and held it to Clarke's throat. She and Bellamy froze. "I don't think you're in any position to make demands."

"Okay, easy Murphy," Bellamy said, the anger in his voice replaced now with fear. "Don't do anything brash."

"You mean like you did to me when you strung me up and tried to have me hanged!"

"That was a mistake. Please, just let Clarke go and we can talk—"

"Talking isn't good enough, Bellamy!" Murphy bellowed. "I was almost killed because of you! You and _her_!" he growled into Clarke's ear and pressed the knife closer to her neck. "I want revenge!"

"You can have it, okay?" Bellamy said. He chucked his gun aside. "There, I'm unarmed now. You can do whatever you want to me, just let Clarke go."

A cruel, derisive laugh tore from Murphy's mouth, making every nerve in Bellamy's body go numb. "You don't get it, do you, Bell? I want you to suffer. Make you writhe in agony like you made me. I want you to grieve, to feel hopeless and lost and worthless like you made me feel!"

"Then do it! Torture me all you want, but for god's sake, leave Clarke out of this! She has nothing to do with you and me!"

"She has everything to do with you and me! The best way to make you suffer, Bellamy Blake, is to hurt the ones closest to you! And since your sister has her Grounder boyfriend to protect her, I had to go for the next best thing." Murphy tugged at Clarke, rearranging her in his arms. He grabbed her waist more firmly with one hand and snaked his other up her stomach to rest on her chest, knife pricking her flesh. Pressing his cheek to hers, her spoke to Bellamy over her shoulder. "Who would've thought the Princess had such a nice body under all that bossiness."

Clarke held herself collected. She breathed shallowly, mindful of the blade pressing into her skin. She kept her eyes clear as she watched Bellamy look on helplessly. He was shaking, from rage or horror or despair, she didn't know. Steeling herself, she kept calm. She would not be Bellamy's catalyst.

Murphy's hands began wandering freely, squeezing her breasts, caressing her sides, and scraping her skin with the knife. Clarke's strong façade slipped for a moment and she squeaked in alarm. Murphy smirked. "Nice voice too. Tell me, Bell, does she scream your name when you fuck her?"

"Stop it," Bellamy said, his voice cracked and desperate. "Please, just stop."

"You've barely begun to feel what I felt," he glowered. "I'm going to make you cry in anguish and beg for mercy."

"I'm already begging! Please, Murphy! I was wrong to let the crowd sweep me away! I should have been reasonable! I should have given you a chance!"

"Yeah, you should've!" Murphy spat. "But you're too late."

Simultaneously, Murphy slashed Clarke's chest and groped between her legs. The pain and sting of the gash and violation brought her stoic wall to rubble and she cried out. Her eyes quickly welled and she watched what suspiciously looked like tears of his own falling down Bellamy's face. His voice was almost non-existent, but she heard him in between the yelps streaming from her mouth.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Clarke. This is my fault. I'm so sorry."

A shot rang out and silenced them all.

From behind her, Clarke could feel Murphy stagger. He'd lost the crushing grasp on her and his grip on the knife loosened. The blade sploshed into the water, followed closely by Murphy's body.

Bellamy bolted to his feet and jumped into the spring. He gathered Clarke into his arms, cradling her to him as if Murphy would rise again and rip her from him. But he stayed down, floating motionlessly on his stomach, a blossom of crimson blooming from a bullet hole.

Still grasping at Clarke as if his arms would provide all the protection she needed, he looked up to see Finn emerging from the woods.

"I heard a gunshot earlier. Raven said you were here. I saw the struggle and I could hear Clarke screaming and— oh my god!" His eyes trained on the red waters dripping down Clarke's torso. He couldn't see Clarke's wound since she was flush against Bellamy's chest and the leader was determined to keep it that way.

Finn dropped his gun and jumped into the spring. "Is Clarke okay?" He reached for her but she flinched away. Bellamy glared. Finn retreated. "Sorry… I… I, uh… have a blanket in my pack. Let me get it."

Clarke still hadn't said anything. She clutched at Bellamy almost as desperately as he held her. She'd started shivering and gave a start when Bellamy let go of her to shrug his jacket off.

"It's okay, Princess. I still got ya." He draped the jacket over her shoulders and pulled it tight around her. He tried to look into her eyes, but she kept her gaze forward. So gently he was scared she would break, he lifted her chin. A chill went down his spine at the terror and relief that swam in her eyes. "You alright?"

She kept staring at him like she wasn't sure he was real. It was only when he'd cupped her face and brushed her cheek with his thumb that she started nodding.

Bellamy felt some tension ease off his shoulders. He pressed her forehead back to his chest with a soft hand on her head and rested his chin on her hair. "We're gonna get you out of here."

Finn came back with the blanket and handed it to Bellamy. He watched silently as the leader swaddled Clarke and lifted her into his arms with the utmost care. Even though she had been the woman of his budding romance, he couldn't bring himself to interfere with the way the two gripped each other as if their very lives depended on being anchored together. He suddenly felt very small and insignificant and could only follow quietly as Bellamy carried Clarke back to camp, eyes peering longingly at how he traced soothing circles on her skin and she had her hand fisted in his shirt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Fantastic reception, guys! Almost all of you wanted me to continue, and we all know I'm a sucker for pleading readers. One more may follow to complete the trilogy. **

* * *

><p>Finn walked up the ramp of the Drop Ship entrance, making sure his steps were soft on the thick steel. He quickly glanced around for onlookers, peering right and left warily, but by now most of the 100, or what was left of them at least, had either retired to their tents for the night or were huddled around the camp fire, sharing stories of their lives on the Ark. No one paid attention to the tracker as he peeled back the tarp that served as the Drop Ship's door, and crept inside.<p>

Only a few flickering service lights that had somehow survived the crash illuminated the room. Their pale glow washed the ship's interior with an eerie smolder that made the place unfamiliar. The walls were a white slab and the shadows among the scattered equipment seemed deep enough to drown in. Perhaps he would.

Clarke stood out from all of it as an ethereal figure of unparalleled beauty. She rested on her cot in the corner, lit by the dreary lights and glowed softly in contrast. Her blonde hair and pale skin shone in a halo, making her look even more like an angel, his savior.

Finn suddenly found that his feet were moving as he was magnetically drawn to her side. He took small, tentative steps as if he thought his clambering boots would rouse her and break whatever blissful spell he was under.

When he arrived before her, her peaceful face filled his thoughts before a strong sense of possession swept over him. He wanted nothing more than to drink her in, savor her, keep her for himself. He was all she needed. He could keep her safe from now on.

He reached out as if to run his fingers over the flesh of her arm to see if she felt as heavenly as she looked, but a gruff voice sliced through the air.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Finn spun on his heel and searched the shadows. There, in the far corner, leaning leisurely in the dark like he belonged there, was Bellamy Blade. His arms were crossed nonchalantly, but there was a glint in his eyes that looked anything but.

"Jesus, Bellamy, don't scare me like that!"

"Not my fault you didn't see me."

"Not my fault you tucked yourself out of sight." Finn countered. "What are you even doing here?"

"I'm covering for Octavia. She told me to watch over Clarke while she went to take a nap. She hasn't left Clarke's side since she stitched her up." His eyes locked on Clarke before turning to Finn a moment later. "You didn't answer my question."

"I'm just here to check on Clarke. I haven't seen her since Octavia kicked us out yesterday."

Bellamy stared pointedly at Finn's still-poised hand hovering over Clarke's forearm. "You can see without touching."

Finn frowned now. "You're not the boss of me."

"Actually, I kind of am," he smirked. His tone was light, but his gaze still flashed dangerously. His arms had unfolded. "Especially when my sister tasked me with making sure no one disturbs Clarke's rest."

"I'm not disturbing her," Finn said indignantly.

"That's not what it looks like," Bellamy said.

Finn followed his glance to Clarke's face. Her eyebrows were knitted and her lips quirked down slightly, as if she were having a bad dream. Lament for her shattered peace shot through him. He moved to smooth the lines from her brow, but Bellamy's voice cut the intimate action once more.

"Don't touch her."

"Screw you, Bellamy."

"You'll wake her up."

"She's not yours."

A growl. "She's not _yours_."

"You're an ass."

"You would know."

"You're so arrogant," Finn snarled. "You think you're so invincible that you can do whatever you want, say whatever you want, and have whoever you want. Well guess what, Bellamy? You're not better than me! You're haughtiness did _this!"_ he gestured to gashes and bruises. "At least if I was with her, I could have done something!"

Bellamy was across the room in an instant, his hand clutching Finn's shirt, dragging him away from Clarke, and roughing him up in the process. He looked murderous. His voice was poison. "Don't you dare, Spacewalker. Don't you fucking _dare_. You weren't there. You didn't see the blade in Murphy's hand or the fear in Clarke's eyes. You weren't forced to watch your enemy carve his revenge into someone you care about. You didn't feel the soul-wrenching helplessness of seeing your friend violated in front of your eyes, of her voice screaming in pain, her strength seeping away with every slice of skin and rough touch. I thought she was going to _die_. She thought she was going to die. She was trying to be strong for my sake. She didn't want me to see her pain. I couldn't do anything. Murphy was going to kill us both and all I could do was watch and tell her I was sorry."

Finn was pushed away a second later, still transfixed and dazed at the fury and grief pouring off his leader. "So _don't_," Bellamy hissed, "say that you could have done something. It was thanks to you that we both survived, but if you had been in my position, you would have been just as terrified as I was."

Dumbstruck and mute, Finn stood frozen. Bellamy had whirled around and marched to Clarke's side, his back to Finn in a clear signal that the conversation was over. He gazed down at her, his hands clenched into tight fists at his side as he watched her. Hesitantly, Finn began to head for the ramp, suddenly filled with shame and regret at his words of jealousy, and didn't hear the string of quiet apologies behind him.

* * *

><p>As soon she managed to swat Octavia away enough to prove that her condition was improving, Clarke was back on her feet and helping around camp. The younger Blake was livid, along with Jasper, Monty, and Finn, who were equally concerned for their friend, while her older brother was annoyingly indifferent about it. He'd told his sister that so long as her jobs were little and didn't strain her, Clarke was free to do what she wanted. Octavia insisted she needed more rest, but with both camp leaders against her, there was very little she could do about it.<p>

The first day, Clarke had been in charge of feeding the fire. It was universally agreed that she wasn't well enough to venture into the forest to gather wood, armed or otherwise, so she sat by the flames, adding logs and twigs, giving the coals a stir every now and then. Jasper and Monty kept her company, comforting her with homey tales and cheesy jokes that make her laugh, but not hard enough to pull at the stitches along her chest.

Bellamy watched from his peripheral as he dealt with camp matters. Finn stayed away.

The second day, Clarke packaged food. Octavia would join her whenever she wasn't looking after small medical cases in Clarke's stead. The makeshift-medic was mildly upset that no one let her treat them ("It's okay, Clarke," "It's just a scratch, Clarke," "You should just relax, Clarke"), but she had taught Octavia the basics for a reason. And the situation was providing the girl with excellent practice.

Monroe snared her first rabbit. Monty made a new Moonshine recipe. Finn had a long talk with Raven. Bellamy quietly observed.

The third day, Clarke reorganized the Drop Ship. She fluttered around, weaving through the people that came and went, shooing out horny teenagers who thought the area was a good make out spot. Raven made polite chat while she worked on the radio. The topic of Abby Griffin sprouted up and the two were quickly swept away in conversation. Things were less awkward between the two by the end of the day.

(Still no word from the Ark)

Octavia splinted a clumsy boy's arm. Miller lost a shoe. Finn only offered Clarke small words. Bellamy walked in looking for his ax. It was on his hip.

* * *

><p>It was the fourth day that Bellamy noticed. The way he had been watching her, making sure she was recovering properly, he realized there was something wrong right away.<p>

The first thing he saw was the weight she carried in her shoulders. She'd been doing nothing but rudimentary tasks around camp, so there was no probable cause to the exhausted slump.

The next thing was the bags under her eyes. For one sickening moment he thought it was because her nightmares kept her awake, but Octavia, who shared Clarke's tent, assured him that she was sleeping well; at least, she herself hadn't been woken by frightened mutters or violent thrashing.

It was when he caught the almost-black redness on her sleeve that a light flicked on and he finally snapped.

He pulled her aside after dinner one night and shoved her shirt up her arm without warning. She hissed in pain as the material scraped over and revealed a long red cut just below her wrist. Upon further inspection, the wound was held together with sloppy stitches.

"What the hell is this?" Bellamy rumbled.

Clarke tried to shake off his grip, but failed. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't fucking _look_ like nothing, Clarke."

"It's not what you think, okay?"

"Then what is it? Tell me you didn't do this to yourself."

"Leave it alone, Bellamy."

She was still trying to twist out of his grasp. He grabbed her other hand and searched her expression. "Please tell me it isn't because of the spring."

She looked away.

His voice cracked. "Clarke…" Mindful of her wound, Bellamy's hands traveled to her face, half cradling it and half forcing her to look at him. "You can't do this. I know you're in a lot of pain, but this isn't the answer. I need you around, okay? You can't leave me. I know I screwed up and I couldn't protect you, and I'm _goddamn_ sorry, but you can't leave me."

"Dumbass."

His eyes owled. "What?"

"I didn't slice my wrist on purpose. I'm not suicidal."

He stared at the cut. "But…"

"I've been practicing with knives," she explained. "Since…. Since the spring, I figured I needed a better way of defending myself. I got Jasper to make some that I can throw and I've been practicing at night on some trees by the wall. I was careless with one and it got me," she gestured down. "It's hard to stitch with one hand."

"You stupid girl," Bellamy breathed. He swiftly pulled her into his embrace and held her a little too close.

"I just felt so useless," she mumbled into his chest after a while. "All I could do was stand there and take his abuse. I couldn't think. I couldn't keep it together. I couldn't fight back. I just made you suffer."

"Hey," —it was meant to be a chastisement, but ended up more a coo—"You were incredibly brave. I was the useless one. You suffered more than I did."

"You were crying… you kept apologizing…"

"You were in pain because of me. I'll never forgive myself."

"It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours."

"You need to say it."

"Say what?"

"That it wasn't your fault. Otherwise you'll always blame yourself."

"I'm to blame, princess."

"Murphy is a villain, Bellamy. He was the one that did this, not me, not you."

"He hurt you."

"He hurt us both. We'll heal together. Now say it."

Bellamy took a deep breath. He'd been struggling with unfathomable guilt since the attack. If he hadn't had been a jerk to Murphy, he wouldn't have gone looking for revenge. He knew Clarke's pain was partially, if not fully his fault. But Clarke's eyes pierced him. They were stern and serious and told his tattered soul that _shit happens._ It wasn't his hand that held the knife to her throat or sliced her skin. Bellamy had tried to bargain for her. He had cried for her.

Another shaky breath. "What happened that day was because John Murphy was a motherfucking bastard that'll rot in hell for his actions. He took us by surprise; there was nothing we could do. I tried to protect you and you tried to protect me. And even though we couldn't fully save each other, we'll grow stronger together so that this'll never happen again."

She pulled back and smiled. It was the first smile he'd seen since the incident. "Agreed."

He grinned back. His hand slid down her shoulders to gently trace the string in her arm. "First things first, princess. We need someone to redo your shit stitch job."

"I'd like to see you put a suture through your own wrist."

"You could always show me how. Without the self-practice, I mean."

"You want to know how to stitch someone up?"

"You taught my sister, might as well make it a family trade."

"A family trade, huh?"

"Besides, I need to know how to put you back together the next time you get reckless." He squeezed her hand. "You're not allowed to leave me, got it?"

She squeezed back. "I got it. You're not allowed to take an early exit, either though. I still need someone to fight with around camp."

"Wouldn't dream of it, princess."


End file.
